


That's More Like It

by houseofabrasax



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Altered Mental States, Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Aphrodisiacs, Begging, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Brothels, Collars, Corporal Punishment, Cunnilingus, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Gags, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, Insults, Master/Slave, Mild Blood, Mind Manipulation, Mind/Mood Altering Substances, Minor Violence, Naked Female Clothed Male, Nipple Clamps, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, POV Multiple, Partial Mind Control, Punishment, Rape/Non-con Elements, Riding, Service Submission, Sexual Slavery, Teasing, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Verbal Humiliation, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:40:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24583177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/houseofabrasax/pseuds/houseofabrasax
Summary: Draco Malfoy pays a visit to an establishment that specializes in sex slaves. One of his old schoolmates catches his eye, and he has some fun with her - but not before he gives her some spirit back.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 24
Kudos: 399





	1. Essence of Spirit

Draco stepped through the concealed entrance with the slightest twinge of nerves.

He ought to be in his element, here, so he portrayed himself to the part – haughty, indifferent, _superior_. Especially here, superior. But there was a quiet snake of dread coiled in his stomach, whispering that he had not done this before.

Draco attempted to shake off the feeling as the proprietor of the establishment – a Mr. Wright, if he recalled correctly -- stepped up to him enthusiastically.

“Mr. Malfoy! A pleasure to see you, sir.”

He did not answer, opting instead for a near-imperceptible _hmm_.

“Do you have an idea of what you’re looking for, sir? Only the finest here, of course, but a particular breed of interest?”

Draco regarded the man coldly. “Breed?”

“We have any you like, sir, Muggles—” Wright’s voice was cut off quickly by the sneer on Draco’s face. “Ah, not for you, of course! Worry not, we have a few purebloods -- though how pure a blood traitor’s blood can be is up for debate, of course – some mixed, and, of course, Mudbloods.”

“Mudbloods,” Draco repeated, more to himself than the other. A Muggle wouldn’t do, obviously. And something in him recoiled at the thought of taking a pureblood, even a traitorous one. But a Mudblood…it might be the solution.

Wright took his pondering for interest. “Yes, sir, some fine-looking Mudbloods. Let me show you.”

He guided Draco further into the room, and this was where he got a look at the place in its full glory.

It was a large room, dim but warmly lit. A bar covered one entire wall, and the rest of the room was accompanied by various smatterings of furniture. Conversation groupings of soft sofas and armchairs, half-curtained alcoves here and there with velvet-lined benches. Small tables surrounded with functional wooden chairs, a slim candelabra in the center of each. And on the wall opposite him, a stage the size of several tables.

And, everywhere, clusters of people – witches and wizards lounging and being attended by slaves.

They were almost all women, at least those that were serving here in the main room, and almost entirely dressed in tight-fitting bunny suits. Draco’s lip curled. It was a look borrowed from Muggles, which did nothing for him. Some found it thrillingly degrading, but he found it all rather gauche.

“Take a seat, Mr. Malfoy,” the man said, gesturing at a wide sofa in a somewhat private back corner. “I have a few in mind to show you, but if any catch your eye in the meantime, pink is for Mudbloods.”

He took off and Draco realized what he meant quickly – the bunny suits were color-coded. Pink, green, gray, and white. He could guess which was which, but he only let his eyes linger on the pink ones.

It wasn’t too long before Wright returned, leading a gaggle of women in pink. One, however, caught his eye in particular. _Oh,_ thought Draco. _This should be fun._

* * *

Hermione felt her heart drop into her stomach when she saw him. _Him_ , of all the cruel and ruthless creatures that could step into this club, it had to be _putrid, foul, cowardly—_

Her thoughts turned instantly fuzzy. It was as if a fog came over her mind, clouding in front of the cruel words and obscuring them with a pleasant, pale buzz. Some part of her was aware she had been thinking something she was not supposed to think, but it was already gone. Regardless, her sweet, demure smile had stayed perfectly in place as she looked at him, before averting her eyes shyly. It was a motion her body made for her, at this point. She did not remember anymore whether it was the training, the magic, or simply routine.

One corner of Malfoy’s mouth turned up, and he looked wicked.

“Oh yes, this will do,” he said, voice quiet and even. He dropped a few Galleons in the owner’s hands without really looking at him. “Have her sent somewhere private.”

“Of course, sir.”

She was led off, heart racing but unsure exactly why.

He left her in one of the nicer private suites – a large lush bed, marble bathroom. There was even picture window enchanted to show the glittering night sky, despite the fact they were deep underground.

The master of the house pushed her into the room with no further orders, which meant she was left to stand completely still in the center. Her feet began to ache after a minute or two, pinched and contorted by her too-high heels. Hermione never quite got used to them, despite wearing them nearly all the time. She had only ever worn low heels, back when—

The fog returned. She let the thought drift away, knowing there was no use trying to catch it. The world was as it was now, and that was all to be said for it.

So she waited, perfectly still, standing in the center of the room. Her body itched and ached, strained in various places by her constrictive outfit, but she did not move. She simply stayed.

Time slipped by Hermione in strange ways, and she could not say how long it was before the door was pushed open and Malfoy had returned. He slid into the room, clicking the door shut behind him.

He turned to her and looked her up and down. His eyes drifted across her aching feet, up her stockinged legs. She watched him linger on her breasts, pressed up and barely contained in her pink corseted bodysuit. When he got to her face, his breath seemed to quicken. She heard a quick puff out his nose, though his posture remained entirely still. Then his eyes flicked upward, to her long pink ears, and his face turned back to a scowl.

He withdrew a wand from his robes, and before she had time to panic, he had made a swirling gesture in the air and all of her clothes vanished. Her body resettled and she wobbled slightly on her now-bare feet. Her face felt warm as he stared at her, now completely naked. If he noticed she was embarrassed, he didn’t indicate it. She had gotten the feeling that she no longer showed embarrassment physically – none of the patrons seemed to react when she felt heat pool in her face and her throat constrict.

“Well hello, Granger. Finally I get to see that smug look wiped off your face.”

She did not answer. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to answer, if she bothered to try.

“I am impressed they managed to make you look somewhat presentable. Last I saw of you, you were the same mangy buck-toothed mutt you’d always been. Now I can almost stand to look at you.”

Some things had changed – her teeth had been _corrected_ , painfully. Her hair charmed partly into submission. But she did not think Malfoy actually noticed the physical difference; he only wanted to humiliate her.

And as hard as they had tried to pry it out of her, some amount of Gryffindor pride was left deep inside, and it stung at his words. She wanted to lunge at him, to smash a vial of potion over his stupid blond—

Fog. Calm. Her face did not change.

“Did they cut out your tongue, too, Granger?”

The words flowed easily in response to a direct question. “No, Master Malfoy.”

“Get my name out of your filthy mouth. It’s _master_ to you, no more.”

She bowed her head, eyes locked on the floor. “I’m sorry, Master.”

“Better.”

He took a moment to ogle her again, free of her costume. Her head was still bowed, but she could see his attention at the edge of her vision.

“Fetch me a drink.”

She moved quickly, toward the corner of the room. There was a golden cart glittering with bottles. On one shelf, there were drinks; on another, vials of potions. She was intimately familiar with a few of the potions. Others had never been used on her, but she harbored no curiosity to try them out. Nothing from the cart had ever brought her particular pleasure.

For now her practiced hands mechanically fulfilled the request, pouring some firewhisky into a low glass over ice. She took it back toward him, trying to let her mind go blank. That usually made it easier.

He stared at her. “Take a sip, then.”

She hated firewhisky, but she took a sip and felt it burn down her throat.

“How is it?”

“Excellent, Master.” It did not matter what she actually thought. She knew this well. 

He was quiet a moment, then took the glass from her hands. His sip was much larger than hers had been. It almost seemed as if he felt he needed it, like he was nervous.

“On your knees.”

She lowered herself in front of him, sitting back on her heels. It was easier to hold the position naked than in her usual clothes, a small blessing. Malfoy’s eyes were on her, she could feel them. Probably reveling in making her his plaything.

Malfoy stepped to her side, then something appeared on the back of her head – his shoe. “Lower,” he growled, and he pushed her ungently until her forehead was on the floor. She could not really resist physically, and she no longer had the fortitude to resist mentally. Her fogged brain felt best when she obeyed quietly, so she did.

“They really have made you into a sweet little thing, haven’t they, Granger? I’ve had more trouble from house-elves.” He nudged one foot under her shoulder and kicked her onto her back. The skin flared in dull, throbbing pain, and she knew it was going to be her first bruise of the night. First of many, no doubt.

"You’d do anything for me like this, I’ll bet. I could fuck your know-it-all mouth until you choked and you’d thank me for it.”

It had been a while since she had spoken, and she felt a stirring in her, telling her she should. “If you’d like, Master.”

He was within her line of sight, now, staring down at her helpless on the floor. If she weren’t mistaken, his face looked disappointed. His eyes seemed to search her for something. There was an unpleasant weight in her stomach, seeing him look less than pleased – if she failed to please him, the alternative would be so much worse.

His face vanished as he stepped out of view, and she stayed where she was, sprawled uncomfortably on the ground. Over his shoulder, he muttered, “Get up.” She rose to her knees and no further, watching him cross the room toward the cart she had just visited. Light clinking was the only sound for a moment as he rummaged through the potion section of the cart.

“Oh, now. What’s this?”

Hermione’s heart beat faster. He was positively grinning when he turned around, a vial of pearly gray liquid clasped in one hand.

“Have you had this used on you before?” He twirled it back and forth in his fingers.

“No, Master.” That was not one of the ones her patrons usually liked. She had seen it on the cart, though. As far as she could recall it was labeled _essence of spirit_.

“This will be fun, I think. Come.”

He snapped his fingers and she walked obediently to his side, keeping her eyes downcast.

“Take this to the other side of the room, all the way at the window, and down it all.”

“Yes, Master.” She took the vial from him and did as he said, her skin tingling. A new potion from the cart could not mean anything good for her and fear began to grip her heart. What was he going to do to her? What awful, perverted…?

The fog descended again, and her thoughts slipped away from her like water. She stood at the window, mind cleared of all worry, and downed the bottle in one go.

For a second, nothing seemed to have changed. The liquid was cool and viscous on her throat, like melted ice cream, though it tasted more of ash. She repressed a quiet cough. Her throat tickled again, and another cough called to her. This one made its way through.

And all of a sudden, the fog lifted.

Hermione’s brain hadn’t felt so clear in…she didn’t know. She didn’t know how long she’d been here. She wasn’t even sure how long it had been since they lost the war. Her brain was racing at lightning speed, so many thoughts and revelations and conclusions piling over one another, fighting for the front of her mind. Until one thought crystalized, hot and red, at her very center. _Malfoy._

Standing in front of her, debasing her. Rage bubbled in her like boiling potion.

“You disgusting, sniveling, _evil_ son of a—”

Her words were cut off in a jolt of pain. It felt like she’d been slapped in the face; she glanced at Malfoy’s wand, now raised. His insufferable smirk hadn’t left him.

“Now _that_ ’ _s_ more like it.”

He was still speaking when she had started to charge toward him, not knowing what her plan was, only wanting to get her hands onto his stupid smirk and deal as much damage as she could. Malfoy flicked his wand again and she went flying to one side, slamming hard into the footboard of the massive bed.

“Nuh-uh-uh,” he tutted, voice insufferably calm. “The rules are still in effect. I’m still your master tonight, no matter how many fiery words I allow you.”

Hermione groaned, picking herself up off the floor where she had crumpled. “You’re _nothing_. You’re a slug and a coward, and I would sooner die than take orders from you.”

His eyebrows pulled together in exaggerated offense. “Oh, Granger. You’ll hurt my feelings.” He took a step toward her, gulping at his firewhisky again. “You seemed so eager to please a moment ago. _‘Yes, Master. Of course, Master. Please use me, Master.’_ ”

Stars burst in Hermione’s vision as she attempted to straighten up, but she seemed to take energy from her anger. Her hand clawed for his face, but he dodged back. “Does it make you feel powerful that you can force submission out of me with spells, Malfoy? As if any woman with her free will intact would so much as look at you.”

His smile didn’t falter, but she saw anger flicker in Malfoy’s eyes. _Good._

“Not sure why I expect any decorum from a Mudblood,” he spat. His wand moved again, too quick for her to catch the movement, and each of her wrists was pulled suddenly away from her. An unseen force yanked her backward, and her wrists were bound to the footboard by shimmering bonds. She tugged against them, but they were immovable as stone.

“Much better. In this position I think I could teach you some manners.” His voice got low at the end, and his aura had turned dangerous. Threatening.

She felt a heartbeat in her throat. “You don’t have it in you, Malfoy. I’ve been through it all before. Think you can torture me better than dear old auntie Bellatrix?”

He smirked, unfazed. “Of course not, but aunt Bella has always lacked subtlety. I don’t share this weakness.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Her jaw was beginning to ache from the tension of scowling. She hated him more than she’d hated anyone, in that moment.

“Hush, now.” Malfoy took a step away from her, back toward the bar cart. He plucked two vials from the potions section. One she knew extremely well – she could taste the bitter green liquid now, the one that felt like swallowing cement. The patrons she saw liked it in particular, because it made her physically unable to climax. More times than she could count she’d been fucked senseless without being able to finish. At least then her head had been foggy.

The other bottle was one Hermione didn’t know. This one was tall and thin, and the liquid within was almost clear. It could have been water, except for the lightest rainbow sheen. Malfoy took both from the cart and knelt in front of her.

“Bottoms up,” he said. She jerked away, but it was no use. He took hold of her nose easily, and when she finally couldn’t help but gasp for air, he poured both vials down her throat at once.

Gagging, she finally got them down. The familiar one was sinking into her, wet and heavy, seeming to seal off her body in delicate places. She didn’t feel the second potion at first. Then she felt it all at once.

In an instant her entire body burst with sensation. She gasped and felt a rush of air in her throat like she’d swallowed a hurricane. It was as if her surroundings had become _louder_ , _more_ – every feeling in her body was multiplied. The carpet under her was twice as soft, but the bonds on her hands were twice as harsh. She struggled to breathe through the overstimulation, trying desperately to focus her mind on something besides dozens of new sensations slinking, crawling, tearing their way across her body.

Malfoy was still grinning at her with the same smug patience. He leaned toward her while she was still reeling, unable to process. Surprisingly softly, he kissed her quickly on the mouth.

She exploded. It was a tiny kiss, almost gentle if it weren’t for the look in his eyes, but she felt it with incredible force. Warmth ignited in her belly immediately, and lust flowed through her in the next second. His lips felt perfect, softer than anything she’d ever touched, more arousing than anything she’d ever done. Her heartbeat sprinted to new tempos, and this she felt keenly too – as if it would burst through her ribs at any moment.

And she understood. He did not intend to torture her with pain, but with the opposite.

All of this happened in the space of a second. Now Malfoy pulled away, and she followed his mouth, wanting.

“Lucky for you that you ended up here, Granger. Seems a perfect place for such a slut.”

“Shut up.” She tried to pitch her voice low, let him feel her hatred, but her voice was breathy and soft. It sounded needy in a way that made her feel sick. _That_ sensation the potion seemed to leave alone – it was only in her head.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he held a single finger to her lips, as if to shush her. She burned with anger, but she couldn’t find it in herself to react against the sensation of his touch. It consumed her attention completely. The finger trailed down her chin, lightly, torturously lightly. It tickled, but it was so intense and electric she couldn’t laugh. All she could do was try to stay still and shut her eyes against the feeling.

His finger continued down her chin, slowly playing down her chest and in between her breasts, toward her belly button, then even lower. Her eyes snapped open and the panic took her – if it was this unbearable to be touched at all, she knew she would break in half with the sensation of his touch any lower.

Then, suddenly, it stopped. His finger was gone, and she panted with relief. Tears had pooled in her eyes and she tried to blink them away, only succeeding in sticking them to her lashes.

Malfoy looked into her eyes again, and produced a third vial from behind his back. “I trust you know this one?”

She was too busy panting to even nod, but it didn’t matter. He knew she knew; it was the antidote to the other, the potion that would give her back the ability to orgasm. They almost never gave it to her. They almost never felt the need.

“Any time you want, I’ll give it to you. Just as soon as you beg me.”

Hermione scowled. “If you wanted drooling obedience, you shouldn’t have given me sense back.”

“Oh, but there’s no fun in that. I can get groveling anywhere. I want to hear your smart mouth _beg_ me for pleasure, and know that your head is clear as you do it.”

“You’re sick,” she said. Her body was starting to acclimate to the potion, and her confidence was coming back. Her voice had returned to sounding even and derisive.

His smirk evened out into his signature indifference. “If you want to hurt me, you’ll need much better insults.” He tucked the vial into his breast pocket, making sure she could see where it went. “You prissy Gryffindors, on the other hand, are so easy. I bet I could get a rise out of you just by calling you a Mudblood.”

Hermione tried very hard to keep her face neutral. She should be used to that, anyway. It was all she was called anymore. Then again, it had been a while since she heard it in possession of her full faculties, and hearing it out of his smug arrogant mouth was too much. It was clear from the triumph in his eyes that he saw her discomfort.

“Too easy.” He shook his head, laughing a little. “Let’s get on with it, then, my little Mudblood whore. Remember: all you have to do is beg.”

She didn’t have time to think. He took a hand to her chest, and his thumb brushed across her right nipple. Instantly, her breath hitched in her throat and her body felt hot. His thumb began to trace slow circles and a full-on _moan_ peeled out of her. Her dream of composure vanished instantly – she became a puddle of want beneath him the second he touched her. The invisible bonds dug into her wrists as she pushed forward, into his hand.

Her nipple had gotten hard now, pink and so tender under his touch. This wasn’t ordinarily a spot in which she was sensitive, even. Now it seemed like it was all of her most sensitive parts at once. Malfoy’s other hand raised his wand, and he twirled it in a tight loop. Something small and metal popped out of the end, and he caught it in his wand hand. The thumb on her disappeared for a second, and entirely against her will she felt herself whine. A moment later, it was replaced by something much more intense.

The metal object was a nipple clamp, now latched firmly to her and prodding her every few seconds with bolts of combined pain and pleasure. She would have torn it off if her wrists were free, but even as she thought it she was quietly glad she wasn’t able to. Her neck lolled back as she closed her eyes. Heat was pooling in her groin quickly and fiercely.

He repeated the process on the other side. Every sensation felt world-ending, earth-shattering, to the point where she assumed she must max out on feeling at some point. But the second clamp was as bad as the first, and doubled the persistent throbs. It did not fade as more was piled onto her. Unbelievably, it only grew.

She was sweating now, heart pounding and skin hot. “I never expected you to be this _needy_ , Granger. You know, some of the boys always said you were probably a slut beneath it all. A shame you never had anyone worthwhile to give you what you’re longing for.”

There was hardly room in her brain for anger, offense. No room for the thought of cursing him for having done this to her, definitely no room to form a retort. She hated him, and yet her mind was already drifting toward the vial in his breast pocket, in the _release_ it would bring. But she stayed quiet, trying to gain control of her breathing, and doing her best not to give him the satisfaction.

“Hmm. Not sure this is the best place for you.”

Malfoy swished his wand again, and the bonds on Hermione’s wrists pulled suddenly. They yanked her away from the bed and up toward the center of the room. Before long she was hanging suspended from her wrists, spread far on either side, hung just high enough she had to support her weight on her tiptoes.

Her wrists were burning, and moreso than usual. But it was nothing compared to the fire growing in her belly, the twitching in her skin that begged for _more, touch me more_.

Malfoy had moved to make a slow circle around her, eyeing her from every angle. “You don’t look too bad in your proper place, Granger.” He was at her backside now. She yelped – one hand had reached out to grope her ass, and the sensation was instantaneously overwhelming. His fingers gripped her flesh and her breath hitched, her skin tingling for more contact.

“Oh—!” she couldn’t help but shout.

“What’s that, hmm? Are you ready to beg already?”

With effort, she shut her eyes and clenched her teeth. “Fuck off.”

“Not quite, then. Let’s try another angle.”

He circled around to the front, and she looked at him. He was definitely flushed, a slight pink creeping up his incredibly pale skin. His eyes were wide as well – he looked almost wild, the composure from before blown open.

Still, his voice was even, haughty, almost bored. “Like what you see, Granger?”

She said nothing, only scowled at him. He flicked his wand, and something she did not quite expect followed.

A shimmering shape formed in the air, not wholly solid but definitely there. He coaxed it forward with his wand, toward her genitals. She clamped her legs shut, tried to fight it off. Malfoy didn’t like that. The shape vanished a moment as he swirled his wand again, and now her ankles were pulled in opposite directions same as her wrists. When she was secure, he pushed forward again with his shimmering probe. A part of her, panicked, wanted to scream _please_ , but she would not beg him. She couldn’t.

The bonds tugging and holding her firm, finally the shimmering shape met its mark. The second it touched her, she all but dissolved. It was _vibrating_ , pulsing, imbued with magical energy and touching her hard and soft at once, gentle and rough. It was only on her lips and already she was gasping.

Malfoy shoved it further in, suggesting her labia apart and brushing her sensitive insides. Her mind went totally blank with feeling – she was only white hot tingle, radiating outward. It inched ever upward, toward her clit.

_Oh, god, not there—_

The magic barely brushed her and her breath hitched so hard she nearly coughed. She heard, more than felt, a low moan sneaking out of her. Her body was pulsing, pulsing, waves of heat sending out from her clit and all over her. She might have been drooling.

“Not so composed now, are we?”

She didn’t answer. This part she knew – a great build within her, her body begging to be pushed to the limit, and the magic stopping it in its tracks. She knew how to deal with that. She had done it before.

Her eyes were shut tight, squinting against the feeling, _praying_ that the stimulation potion would wear off soon. She could endure. She _could_.

The trouble was, none of her other patrons had ever offered her a choice. There it was, lingering in his pocket, at only the cost of her pride.

_Not him_ , her mind screamed. _Not like this._

The sensation did not let up. The potion seemed to prevent her from acclimating; every second was like the first, gasping and writhing, unable to prevent herself from jerking her hips into it. But so far she was holding strong.

Something else appeared then – something soft and slender. Not imbued with the same magic.

Malfoy took his finger under the pulsing magic pressure, and he pressed it softly in between her folds. Even that was enough to send a shiver up her spine, her tiny hairs standing on end. Then his finger found its way into her, and her body exploded anew.

He was surprisingly gentle, pushing into her slowly. She was so wet it was no challenge for one finger, and he quickly added another. The pressure was still pulsing on her clit, and now the warmth inside her was only compounding. Her body felt tight all over.

“Come on, Granger.”

She ignored him, trying to focus on anything else. Her attention turned to her wrists, burning with pain. The thought only made her realize she was completely at his mercy, which sent a shiver all the way down her spine despite her mind. She tried to think about balancing on her toes, but she ran into a similar problem. Next, she focused on her breathing; in and out, in and out. But the things happening to her made her breathing all too irregular, and she couldn’t ignore how desperate and horny she sounded.

Then his fingers curled inside her, hitting a sweet spot, and _ohhhhh_. Her insides _throbbed_. She all but melted. It was too much, she was so tense and pent up and all she had to do was—

He hit her spot again, firmer this time, and her whole body convulsed. It was torturous, right at the edge, not able to do anything.

“Come on, love.”

She resolved to hold fast, but then the combination of the magical force and the fingers hit her in _just_ the right way and---

“Please!”

He laughed, low and sinister. She couldn’t believe she’d said it. “Please what?”

Her whole head was throbbing and her body was covered in sweat. “Please, give me the potion, please…”

“Hmm. I’m not sure I’m inclined to hand it over to someone who won’t address her betters properly.”

She clenched her eyes tighter. That was too far, she would just have to endure, just have to make it through – but then his fingers and the magic seemed to move as one, thrusting into her and onto her and it was too much, it was _too much_ —

“Please, Master, please, give it to me!”

All at once, the sensation stopped. The fingers stilled, the pulsing magic stilled, and there was nothing but silence and the sound of her own breathing.

“That’s more like it. Open your mouth.”

She did, barely able to see him. Something cool poured down her throat; it tasted sweet, like berries. Then all at once she felt a rush inside her, like air was returning to her lungs.

“Beg me to finish.”

She shook her head. The magic force at her clit vibrated harder, almost painfully so. The words tore out of her. “Please, Master, please--!”

His fingers returned, twice again as eager, and this time she could _feel_ it, she was approaching, she was going to make it –

Then he curled his fingers into her once more, and she shuddered into a wild and electric orgasm. She clenched and pulsed around his fingers, throbbing. Her breaths came shallow and quick.

She was riding out the aftershocks, panting, still suspended by her wrists. He stepped in front of her.

“Look at me, Granger.”

She felt dirty, and used, but she did anyway. They had trained her well, and she felt at last the fog might be coming back. His eyes were smug, and satisfied.

“What do we say?”

She shut her eyes, still pulsing below. “Thank you, Master.”

* * *

Draco exited the private room feeling warm all over, and not a little bit pleased. Mr. Wright appeared as if out of nowhere.

“Did you have a pleasant experience, Mr. Malfoiy?”

He barely looked at Wright, but his mind wandered back to the helpless look on the girl’s face. “I did, actually.” He paused to straighten his coat. “Now that you mention it, I could use a slave for personal use. Are you in a mind to sell?”

Mr. Wright grinned, and Draco began concocting numerous vicious plans for his new pet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never intended to do more than a one-shot with this, but after a few comments I got thinking about writing more. I have no idea where it'll go. I usually like to write things out in their entirety before posting them, so it might be a while before an update, but I have written a chapter 2. Hang tight if you're interested! Thanks for the nice comments, always appreciated.


	2. Imperio

Mother had nearly begged Draco not to move out of the Manor. She had always been protective, but it was worse since the war. Winning did not seem to have calmed her nerves, which, truthfully, Draco understood.

He had eventually agreed on the condition that he live in the guest house, and that she respect his privacy. Father had helped secure that compromise, insisting that a grown man needed a home of his own.

So it was to the guest house that Draco was leading Hermione now. He didn’t know what his parents were going to think — what his _friends_ were going to think. Plenty of them had taken human slaves, it was starting to become fashionable to do so, but mostly they were strangers. Not one of Harry fucking Potter’s inner circle.

It was impulsive. He’d been high on the experience and not thinking correctly — and it didn’t help that she cost him practically nothing. He hadn’t thought it through.

He’d figure out what to do about it later. For now, he stepped up to the threshold, Hermione trailing behind, drugged again. Wright had insisted — “ _For your safety, sir!”_ — and had even tried to pawn several more doses of the potion on Draco, but he had no plans to use it again.

She was wearing an over-large man’s shirt and trousers someone had found in a back room. He wasn’t about to traipse her home _naked,_ and Draco never wanted to see that ridiculous bunny suit again.

Once they were inside, Draco sighed. He would have to figure a lot of things out, and preferably by tomorrow. For now he nudged her into the sitting room and mumbled, “Sleep there.”

He figured that would have to do for now.

* * *

Draco woke early. He had never been a heavy sleeper, but now especially he was so easily roused that he almost never made it through the night. When he jolted awake in the early morning sunlight, some phantom threat disappearing into nothingness, he decided to just get out of bed.

A quick trip to Knockturn Alley, something from the oldest section of Father’s library, and he thought he had what he needed. Crossing the grounds back to his own house, he started to feel an actual _thrill_ again — some of the excitement that had made him buy her in the first place was edging out the regret.

She was still asleep when he got home, lying perfectly still on the floor. It must not have occurred to her to use the furniture.

He bent down beside her and brushed some hair away from her neck. He would not admit this aloud, but she looked fairly pretty, lying there asleep. When he pulled out the slim metal collar and placed it on her, it added quite something to the effect.

Draco tapped it with his wand. The metal slithered like a snake, wrapping around itself until there were no visible breaks. No way to remove it. He could feel the pulse of the magic on it, tingling his fingers. It felt _good_ ; at least, from his position.

He tried to swallow down his remaining nerves as he stood up, now looming over her on the floor.

“Get up.”

She stirred for the first time at the sound of his voice, then blinked slowly awake. She seemed confused for a moment, looking around the room with furrowed brows. Then her face turned up to his, and he saw a few things happen in her eyes — anger, yes. Hate. And something like bafflement.

“How’s your head?” he asked. “Did that bloody potion wear off, or do you need the antidote again?”

She blinked at him again. “Malfoy…? Where on earth—”

“Did it wear off?” he repeated.

She glared at him. “Go to hell.”

“Good, it has,” he said. He took a moment to gather his thoughts. She was watching him from the floor, and he still felt oddly anxious. “Going forward, I don’t mind if you speak freely, but I will expect you to be polite.”

“ _Polite?”_ Her voice was disgusted. “How could I be polite to such a grotesque excuse for a…”

She trailed off, and her brow furrowed again. Her eyes, thankfully, didn’t look glassy like they had at the club. She was clearly thinking, and hard. This was a different effect, and Draco knew she was puzzling out the new sensation.

“See, that wasn’t very polite.”

“What did you…?”

“I don’t like that stuff they kept you on at all. It takes all the fire out of you. But I can’t exactly leave you to stab me in my sleep.”

Hermione had found the collar now, and was fingering it all around. Her eyes went slightly wide when she touched it. She searched it for a hinge or a lock, but found nothing.

“Come on, Granger, you can’t be that shocked by a slave collar. You’re smart enough to understand what you are.”

“What the hell did you do to me?”

“The collar is enchanted with a modified Imperius curse. It won’t _make_ you obey me, but it will encourage it. And quite persuasively.” He paused to look at her, face still showing her mind in rapid movement. “Stand up.”

She rose immediately, but stopped herself halfway. Her face was conflicted. She lingered, half-standing, for long enough that Draco thought she might refuse. But at last, she rose to her full height.

Draco had been Imperiused before. In school, at fourteen, and on a few other occasions in service to the Dark Lord. He knew what it felt like; serene and pleasant, an aura that blocked out all the reasons you might have to resist. He could see something similar happening to Hermione, who now stood before him looking still confused but somewhat calmer.

“Did you say earlier I could speak freely?”

Her expression had evened out, and Draco found it difficult to read. “Yes, provided you show some courtesy. Let’s try that again with a ‘sir.’”

“Not ‘Master,’ sir?” Her tone was entirely sarcastic, but it didn’t make a difference; having her calling him _sir_ , which would have been unthinkable to her even last year, was more than satisfying enough to override her tone.

“Dreadfully long, isn’t it? No, not every time.” He smirked. “Only when you’re feeling especially devoted.”

Her expression was disgust, but it betrayed the slightest bit of surprise also. All of her emotions were available on her face, which amused him. She didn’t have the practice that he had in maintaining composure.

“So may I speak freely, _sir_?”

Draco nodded.

“In that case, I think you’re a despicable cockroach and the fact that it would even cross your mind to put this _thing_ on me makes you not only an evil bigoted monster, but a — a perverted one!” She paused for a beat, face flushing with anger. “Sir.”

He had to laugh, low and mocking. “Have you rehearsed that little speech, Granger? Did that satisfy you?”

She set her jaw. “Yes, sir.” Her voice was calm and confident, but, sure enough, he could read the disappointment in her face. It was almost pitiable.

“I might as well save you the trouble in the future.” He took a step toward her, and lowered his voice, letting the playful tone fall off. “You can’t insult me, Granger. Do you think I don’t know what I am? Who I serve? I am no longer a foolish boy tortured by flimsy concepts of _right_ and _wrong_. Being right is theoretical, and winning is tangible. And this side, _my_ side, won. If you try to hurt me by invoking my conscience, you’ll waste your breath.”

She was shorter than he remembered, and at this distance he had to angle his face quite severely to meet her eyes. She returned his gaze unflinching, but said nothing.

They held eye contact for a tense minute. Then he took a step back. He heard one sharp exhale when he did, as if she’d been holding her breath. When he moved she looked away, and when she met his eyes again her own were wet with tears.

“How long has it been?” she whispered.

He blinked. “Only one night. How strong are those potions they gave you?”

She shook her head. “Not since _you_. How long has it been since…since Voldemort—”

His heartbeat quickened, and he raised his wand on instinct. Before he’d even fully thought to do it he’d struck her with a spell, hard across the face. “Don’t ever say his name. Don’t you dare refer to the Dark Lord at all.” Draco fought the urge to look over his shoulder, to check that no one had heard. Check that no one was _watching_.

Her cheek was turning gradually pink. There was a spark of defiance in her eyes, but it faded. She did not want this fight. “Fine.”

Draco gave himself a moment to settle down before he returned to her question. “It’s been a year.”

“A _year_?” Her voice broke, and he felt a pang of sympathy for her. He could not imagine the year she had had. He only nodded.

“What happened to everyone?” She bit her lip and seemed to deliberate a moment. “Please, sir. Please tell me.”

Her voice no longer sounded sarcastic; it was desperate. Draco sighed.

“Potter is dead, of course. Weasley is in Azkaban with the rest of his traitor family. I don’t know for sure about anyone else, but I imagine a lot of them ended up like you.” That was the truth of it; any time someone tried to fill him in on the more gruesome details, he tuned them out deliberately.

She turned her face away. He knew it was because she didn’t want him to see her cry. He was loathe to admit it, he didn’t take any joy in seeing her cry, either.

“Go get cleaned up. There’s a room at the back of the hall for you.”

She was still turned away, but she didn’t move. Her hands clenched into fists and she seemed to dig in her heels. Draco only waited. He knew she wanted to leave, if only to be alone, and he knew the collar would compel her on top of that. It was only a matter of time.

Indeed, it was less than a minute before she walked off, giving in.

Draco sank back in a chair, exhausted.


	3. Incarcerous

Hermione stepped out of the bathroom, having splashed cold water on her face.

She had wanted to lie down on the bed and simply cry, but the collar recognized that Malfoy had given her a command. It was like an itch in the back of her mind, almost like her own thought. _Go get cleaned up. You’ll feel better, won’t you?_ Pulling at her like an urge, a craving. It did not feel like blind obedience; it felt like what she _wanted_. It felt good to give in and do as commanded, warm and pleasant and _right_.

But Hermione knew the difference between what felt right and what _was_ right, and she wasn’t going to fold that easily.

She had read about slave collars, once. They came up in her research about house-elves. She’d never imagined then that they still existed, much less that she’d find herself wearing one. Malfoy hadn’t bothered to mention, but she recalled that if she tried to hurt him it would stop her. And if she somehow managed it despite the enchantment, it would kill her.

She shivered. It was all so cruel, so inhumane.

_Still, it’s better than that hideous club._

Was that her own thought, or the spell? Hermione wasn’t sure. It was much subtler an effect than a full-blown Imperius. Too slight to know for sure.

She felt tears welling in her eyes again, unbidden. She was trying not to think about everyone, about Ron. Part of her hoped Malfoy was lying, but rationally she knew that wasn’t likely. They lost the war, and he had no reason to lie about it now.

Something in her stomach tugged at her to leave the room. This time she was pretty sure it was the collar, beckoning her to return to her _master_. But he hadn’t ordered any such thing, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to be an active participant in her own subjugation. So instead she sat on the bed and waited.

The feeling grew as she sat. It started as the mildest urge, an idle thought passing over her mind. She ignored it. Soon it became more severe, a yearning to leave the room. Her heart ached to do it. She ignored that, too.

After fifteen minutes, it had become a need. Like hunger, a physical sensation, an unpleasantness demanding to be resolved. All she had to do was leave the room. Go to see Malfoy. Then it would stop.

Honestly, she shouldn’t be wasting her mental fortitude on this, on refusing to even interact with him. Sooner or later — and if she knew Malfoy, it would be sooner — he was going to command her to do something vile. What good would it do her to have wasted her energy on this?

She got up. She wasn’t crying anymore as she took a step toward the door.

The feeling improved as soon as she began moving, becoming soft and encouraging with every step.

She found Malfoy more or less where she’d left him, standing in the corner of the sitting room looking out the window. His face was stony, but it always was — except when he was half-drunk and torturing her.

He turned soundlessly toward her. “I think you’d better kneel when you greet me, don’t you?”

“No, _sir_ ,” she replied immediately, though she knew it was a rhetorical question. It being a rhetorical question also did not stop the suggestion pulling at her. _It would be better to kneel. I should do that, that would be the right thing to do._ She tried to brush off the thoughts – she stayed standing uneasily.

Malfoy, insufferably, smirked at her. “We’ll work on that. For now, I’ve got you some clothes.” He pointed at a pile on a nearby chair. “Change out of that ludicrous outfit.”

Now the chorus asking her to kneel was joined by a urge to do this, to change. This task she actually wanted to do, however, so she gave in to it. Whoever’s clothes she was in were not comfortable on her, and they had a bit of a smell besides.

She wasn’t sure what she was expecting — another bunny suit, or a sleazy version of a maid’s outfit, perhaps. Something degrading at least. Instead she found ordinary Muggle clothes. It did bear some resemblance to the maid uniform in her imagination; black dress, white collar. But it wasn’t humiliating.

She grabbed the bundle and turned to walk back toward the bedroom.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Confused, she turned back to look at him. “To change?”

“No need to leave to do that.”

Hermione felt her heartbeat. Malfoy was looking at her with the same unreadable expression.

“Have you gotten shy now, Granger? You know that I’ve seen plenty of you already.”

Her face felt hot.

“If you’d prefer, we could forego the clothes entirely. Make quite certain to relieve you of your modesty.”

“Fuck you.” A lump formed in Hermione’s throat, and she started to unbutton her shirt. She didn’t want to give him a reason to command _that_ ; the constant needling from the collar was sure to be difficult if he did. She felt Malfoy’s eyes on her as she changed, trying hard to move quickly and be as boring about it as possible. Still, he didn’t avert his gaze.

“Well done. That was the fastest you’ve obeyed yet.”

Hermione gritted her teeth. “I’ll slow it down, then.”

He raised his eyebrows at her, as if at a child. Then his face turned businesslike again.

“I’m guessing they snapped your wand?”

Hermione barely remembered that. Everything with Voldemort, with Harry, had just happened at the time. She was so numb that it didn’t occur to her to miss the wand, not for weeks.

“Yes.” He gave her a pointed look, and the collar nudged at her. “Sir.”

“Inconvenient.”

_Why?_ If she had a wand, she could curse his pompous ass into oblivion. “What do you mean, sir?”

“I imagine it will be much harder -- and slower -- for you to keep house without one. Oh, well. I suppose Muggles find a way. Or…they used to.”

Hermione did not want to know what he was implying by _used to_. “Keep house?”

He smiled at her again, condescension pouring off him. “Come now, Granger, what did you think? Surely not that I was just going to keep fucking you?”

She clenched her fist, rage boiling up. Maybe she should _try_ to punch him, just to see what the collar would do. He approached her until he was very close, too close. When he spoke, his voice was lowered to a whisper.

“Is that what you want, love? To wait for me all day in my bedroom until I come home and use you? To be my little pet?”

“You’re disgusting,” she said, taking a deliberate step away from him, though her heart was pounding.

“Funny that you didn’t actually say no. Regardless, I intend to get my money’s worth out of you, so you’re going to make yourself useful.”

“What if I won’t?”

“You will, eventually,” he said, tapping his neck to indicate the collar. “And it’s either you or a house-elf. If I recall correctly, you’re rather fond of house-elves. Mother has been hounding me to get one, I could just as easily do that.”

His tone wasn’t threatening, but it didn’t need to be. He knew how she felt about house-elves. He probably knew, also, that there was no way she was going to let herself be the cause of another creature’s enslavement. Not ever.

“Fine.”

He grinned again.

“So?” said Malfoy, turning away. “Get on with it.”

She was happy enough to do that, if only because if meant she could leave the room.

* * *

The collar proved easy enough to disobey over the next few days, at least for the first seconds. The trouble was that it did not let up insisting, and Malfoy seemed to be so damn _patient._

He ordered her to do some cleaning. She sat on the floor in the kitchen, arms crossed like a child, and sat still. He didn’t do anything except leave her there, going about his business.

She held out for some time, trying to read a book she plucked from a shelf just to pass the time. It turned out to be a rather nasty book, filled with dark potions, and she tossed it aside. But no sooner had she tossed it aside than she thought, _I should put that back where it belongs._ So she replaced it on the shelf and went back to defiantly sitting on the floor.

Then she noticed something on the ground, a bit of string fallen off someone’s clothes, and it bothered her to look at, so she picked that up and threw it away, too.

And before she realized what she was doing, she had started cleaning the damn kitchen. Every time she caught herself she stopped and willfully refused, but it was as if the thousand little things out of place now personally bothered her. It was a mental load off to tidy them up. She felt wrong until she obeyed.

And that’s how it went for the rest of it. She could struggle for a while, but given enough time she had to give in.

Her only chance to avoid obeying was when Malfoy gave up waiting or rescinded the command, and that almost never happened. He left her alone in the house for long stretches of time, attending to whatever dark business even existed anymore. And if he gave her an order before he left, she had nothing to do the entire time he was gone except think about it.

He wasn’t cruel; he didn’t need to be. Eventually she did as she was told, so he didn’t really punish her. It wasn’t like the club, which had doled out punishments even when she wasn’t sure what she’d done. No…except for the time she had mentioned Voldemort, he hadn’t hurt her at all.

She wondered why that had been the thing to put him over the edge, even just _saying_ Voldemort. Hearing Malfoy refer to him as “the Dark Lord,” like a proper Death Eater, made her lip curl every time. Of course Malfoy was an evil prick who fought on the wrong side and destroyed the world as she knew it, but…it still felt wrong to think of him in the same group as Bellatrix, Pettigrew, _Snape._ All she ever saw of him was at home, where he behaved almost normally.

She heard the sound of the door opening and was yanked from her thoughts. Instinctively, she made to kneel. Then she noticed what she was doing and stood again. The collar tried to persuade her back down, and it was as if the universe were trying to remind her that her situation, that _Malfoy_ , was anything but “normal.”


	4. Prior Incantato

Draco had been waited on his entire life, but not like this. He kept expecting that at some point the sight of Hermione on her hands and knees cleaning, or kneeling in front of him, or even just passing by in her Muggle uniform would stop causing such excitement in him, but he was wrong. Every time he felt fire.

It took them a while to find a rhythm. Firstly, because for over a week Hermione had delayed obeying every order he gave her just to see how long she could. He was surprised to find that he didn’t really care. Anyone else he would have snapped at, or worse. The Malfoys were not known for their patience with servants. But something about the way her eyebrows scrunched together when she was concentrating, how she bit her lip when she was trying not to give in to the desire to obey, he found rather endearing.

Sometimes he caught her looking at him with a certain curiosity in her eyes. Her usual contempt missing, only looking as if to study him. Sometimes he imagined he saw a kind of longing.

But Draco was not a fool. He knew any loyalty she showed was only to make her life easier, and he knew that servants who could feign affection did better with their masters. This he knew intimately from…well, from the rest of his life.

 _Besides,_ he thought. _It doesn’t matter if she likes you._

Draco wondered occasionally if anyone actually liked him. There was no way to know. So many people only saw carefully selected portions of him, and the rest had very compelling reasons to fake it. There was no one he trusted, really, except perhaps Mother.

_How pathetic._

He rose from where he’d been sitting, not really reading the book he was holding. It was getting dark out now. He decided it had been long enough.

“Granger.”

He didn’t speak very loud, since she was probably nearby. It turned out she was, and she stepped in the room holding a candle against the growing twilight. Her face made a familiar, quick series of expressions, the ones that meant she was feeling compelled to do something and deciding whether she was going to acquiesce. This time, she did, and knelt before him.

He supposed he might as well be direct. “Go to my bedroom, take off your clothes, and wait for me on the bed.”

Her face went white. “What, sir?”

“You heard me. Go.”

She shook her head. “No. Not again.”

He sighed quietly. “It’s me or back to the club. I know you think me arrogant, but even you’ll agree I’m a welcome improvement over the scum that would see you there.”

There was fury in her eyes, red and raw. She knew he was right, and he knew she would give in eventually. So he looked at her coldly, unreactive.

Finally, not breaking eye contact, she stood and backed out of the room. He let himself smile at that.

As soon as she was out of sight he took a deep, steadying breath. Why in Merlin’s name was this so _hard_ for him? He wasn’t a stranger to sex, and he wasn’t a stranger to giving orders. One angry look from his Mudblood slave should not be enough to put a lump in his throat.

He thought about having a drink, to take the edge off, but dismissed it. He would have to stop relying on it one time or another.

He made his way up the stairs to the master bedroom.

Despite the guest house being his now, Mother’s taste was still visible everywhere. Simplicity, severe angles. Nothing lavish, nothing gaudy. Everything was expensive, but subtly so; nothing to imply new money.

So the bed was rather plain, carved in barely-decorated ebony with a rich, dark duvet. Atop which sat Hermione, hugging her knees into her chest and covering as much of herself as possible, but naked as instructed. The collar was even more striking against her pinkish skin surrounded by all these dark colors.

He made his way to the cabinet to retrieve something — he’d been stockpiling for this. Two vials in hand, he stood at the end of the bed and looked down at her. She eyed the vials warily.

“I’m going to give you a choice, Granger. Each of us is going to drink one of these, and I want you to decide who gets which.”

“Why always the potions, _sir_? Afraid of what I’ll do if you leave me sober?”

“They’re as much for your sake as mine, Granger,” he said. He watched her quirk an eyebrow at him. “To give you plausible deniability. Imagine how awful, how _terrible_ you would feel if you had to live with the fact that you’d fucked evil Draco Malfoy and enjoyed it.”

A hot pink blush crept up her cheeks, which ignited something inside him. She set her jaw; her mouth went somewhat lopsided in what he could only assume was a poor attempt at a sneer. Draco might have said it was cute, if he allowed himself to think such things about her.

She gave up at last and studied the bottles. “What are they?”

“This one,” he held up the clear vial, “is the one I gave you before. Sensory enhancement.”

Her eye twitched at that, and Draco felt warmth pooling in his stomach.

“This one heightens arousal.”

She frowned. “Not much of a choice, sir. They’re awfully similar.”

“A subtle difference. One will make you feel everything more, and one will simply make you _want_ everything more. Which will you choose?”

Her breathing had sped up quite a bit. Her face was still calculating, always thinking. The word _cute_ floated through his mind again.

“You’ll take the other one?”

“I promise.”

She pointed to the arousal potion.

“Ask nicely.”

She frowned and spoke in an irritated deadpan. “Please may I have this one, sir?”

He handed her the bottle. For a moment she just stared at it, and he wondered if she was getting any dangerous ideas. “Drink it,” he prompted. She tossed back her head and poured the liquid down her throat.

She grimaced as she drank it, like she was tasting something unpleasant. He didn’t see a difference at first. Maybe she was trying to hide it. But as he watched, her pupils grew wide and her expression softened into something needy. She had stopped trying so hard to hide her body, and he could glimpse through her arms that her nipples were getting hard. It was working.

He unstopped his own vial and followed suit. He felt nothing, at first, not even the liquid in his throat. He checked the bottle and found that he was, in fact, draining it. That was peculiar.

Then it hit him.

He understood suddenly how she had reacted in the club. It was as if the world around him had an intensity setting, and the potion had dialed it up three notches.

“This is…serious stuff,” he muttered.

“What’s wrong, sir? Can’t handle a taste of your own medicine?”

He glanced at Hermione. Despite her snide tone, she was staring at him _hungrily_. Her fingers were gripping the duvet now, as if she were trying to hold herself back. The rise in his heartbeat at the thought of that felt like a booming drum inside him.

“Kiss me.”

She practically leapt. Between the potion and the collar, there was none of her telltale hesitation. He had barely finished speaking when she met his mouth, rising to her knees on the bed and pulling him down by the lapels. Her mouth was electric on him, the sensation so sweet and intense. She was taking his mouth fiercely. He let himself enjoy it a moment.

Despite how much he wanted to stay, Draco pulled his head away from her. Hermione tried to follow, and he had to hold her back with hands on her shoulders.

“There’s the slut I was looking for.”

“It’s got nothing to do with me, or you for that matter,” she said, breathlessly. “It’s the damn—”

“Hush, love. There’s no one here to save face for.”

There was the hint of a retort in her eyes, but it was enough of a command that she stayed quiet.

“That’s better.”

He took a hand to the side of her face, stroking her skin gently, just exploiting the sensations. It was amazing how different he felt, as if the rest of the time he were only using half of his nerve endings.

His fingers combed through her hair. She was leaning into his touch, her hands on his wrist as if to keep him there. Her hair felt much smoother than he would have expected, even now that it was tamer than when they were at school.

But Draco didn’t want to waste the potion entirely on his fingers.

He pulled his hand from her face, pointing to the ground. “Come.”

Her eyes were so desperate, he didn’t see any trace of shame. He was too overcome to feel anything besides desire; the potion was enhancing the smell of her, too, warm and earthy. He nudged her until she was kneeling in front of him.

He unbuttoned his trousers hastily, trying not to think about how extreme even that action suddenly felt. She was only staring at him, waiting. That sight made him close his eyes and smile slightly.

“Put your pretty mouth to good use, for a change.” She reacted quickly; as soon as he was free of his pants, she was already moving. “Eager, aren’t we?”

She was too busy to answer.

Draco couldn’t think about anything but the feeling. Her mouth on him was nothing short of an explosion, too much pleasure to even think. He felt as if he was ready to come right then, but he could tell that physically he was nowhere near. It was only the intensity that made him think it.

 _This is what she was feeling before?_ That thought made him feel the tiniest twinge of guilt, but it was quickly overshadowed by the combined effect of the memory of her then and what she was doing now.

His thoughts were pulled back to the present when Hermione’s tongue ran over the slit of his cock. “Fuck,” he breathed.

Her mouth pulled off him for a second, to catch her breath, and he barely stopped himself from whining. “Get back here,” he growled. When she did he leaned into the sensation again, feeling a thousand electric bursts as she worked him.

Suddenly, he felt something else. Hermione had snuck one hand around his leg and was groping his ass. He gasped in surprise and in half-pleasant pain. When the shock wore off, he opened his eyes to look at her.

“Hands to yourself, Granger.”

With effort, Draco pulled his wand from his pocket and fired off a spell. Her hand was pulled forcefully from his backside and twisted behind her, meeting her other hand at the small of her back. They stayed, held firm by the same shimmering magical bonds he had used before.

She made a noise of discontent through her occupied mouth, but she didn’t stop moving.

He took the opportunity to take a fistful of her hair again, holding her steady. Draco knew he wouldn’t be able to bear it much longer. He guided her head back and forth on his length. She seemed more eager, too, moving even faster than his hand compelled her.

He felt something stirring, and then a wave came over him unimaginably strong. At the height of it, he felt like he was being completely rent apart. Then he was panting and spilling his last into Hermione’s mouth.

He took a moment to catch his breath, which seemed presently impossible. There was fire in his lungs from the sheer act of breathing, and the post-climax tremors rippled through him like an earthquake.

“You showed remarkable restraint before, if you felt anything like this.”

She didn’t answer, not even in annoyance, and Draco glanced down at her on the floor. There was a slight sheen in her eyes from accumulated tears. Her face looked utterly wrecked, shining and flushed. And she was staring at him with a look in her eyes that could only be despair.

“Look at you, love. You must be feeling so needy.”

She just looked at him, a plea in her eyes, breathing hard. It occurred to him the collar might still be compelling her to stay silent. He wasn’t in a hurry to change that.

“Alright. Come here.”

He took hold of her arms and pulled her to her feet. She wobbled a little. He pushed her backwards toward the bed, suggesting her down until she was lying on her back. Her hands were still tied behind her, and they were wriggling against the restraints, no doubt trying to get free so she could take care of her own needs.

Draco took his time rebuttoning his pants, leaving her to lie there helpless. His heartbeat was still in his throat, but he kept his movements utterly calm.

Finally, he turned his attention back to her. He leaned all the way over the bed to her mouth and kissed her. Her lips were salty and bitter with come. She kissed him as fiercely as before, as if redirecting the energy she could not send to her hands.

He pulled away at last, biting her lip, and standing back to his full height.

“You remember, don’t you, love?”

She looked confused, her brow wrinkled over her blown-out eyes.

“All you have to do is beg.”

Draco took one of his hands to the inside of her thigh, tracing gentle circles there. Her skin was almost hot, and delicate against his finger. She whimpered under his touch.

“Do you want more?”

She closed her eyes tight, and he saw her clenching her teeth. She was clearly in agony, but still she did not want to let go of her pride.

“It wouldn’t be so bad, would it? You’ve done it before, and you enjoyed yourself then. What’s the harm in begging your master for a little treat?”

“Shut _up_ , Malfoy!” Her voice was breathy and broken, but she was angry enough now to break through the enforced quiet.

“Malfoy,” he repeated. “How very personal of you.” He took his hand completely off her now, stepping back and putting his hands in his pockets. “I suppose you don’t want my help.”

She shot him a quick, angry look, and started immediately to roll over on the bed, trying to get a better angle.

“None of that,” he said, flicking his wand again. An unseen force pushed her back over, holding her still. She could barely wriggle, now, and another whine escaped her. “The only way you’re getting any relief is if you beg for it. Those are the rules. I’m happy to leave you here all night instead.”

His kept his voice crisp and even, but he was beginning to lose some composure at the sight of her struggling against his magical bonds. It was so clear how wildly horny she was that he felt it was almost infecting him, as if he had taken the same potion she had. Her skin had turned a lovely shade of pink all over.

Draco took a step toward the bed, taking in the view of her. He was resolved not to give her anything, but he found it difficult to keep his hands off her. One of his fingers traced the line of her breast, gently following the curve. She shivered under his touch. Then he found his way to her nipple, stroking it with his thumb in a way that made her moan.

“What’s that, Granger? Something to say?”

She pulled away from him, but he followed, sliding his hand down to trace her pelvic bone. The way that she thrashed against the restraints suggested she was trying to kick him. She was breaking, and he could tell. Soon it would be too much for her.

With a grin, he bent down again, replacing his finger on her pelvis with his lips. He planted a few soft kisses down her leg, inching closer to her groin. She shuddered. Her muscles tensed when he got closer, close enough to almost brush her labia. But instead he pulled away and looked into her eyes.

She stared at him, utter defeat in her face, and screamed.

“Please, Master, please fucking _touch me!_ ”

He grinned. “Why, of course, Granger. Why didn’t you ask?”

He returned his mouth to her, planting one kiss on her folds. He took his tongue between them, licking upward until he found her clit. He focused on that until it was firm and prominent, and Hermione was trembling under him.

Then he decided he wanted to see her face. He rose away from the bed — she cried out at that — and replaced his mouth with a finger. He pushed against her clit until her eyes closed and she threw back her head, panting.

He leaned over again and took her open mouth, making her gasp a little. Now the taste of both of them was in the kiss. Draco didn’t slow down his fingers, and she was breathing hard between kisses. It would not be long.

Then an idea occurred to him, and he simply had to try. Experiment further with the enchantment.

He pulled his face away, focused on stroking her, and said, “Come for me.”

There was no hesitation. She let out a scream as she climaxed. Draco felt her twitching under his finger, blood pulsing outward as the waves crested and subsided. 

Draco sat beside her on the bed, listening to her breath evening out.

After a while, she spoke quietly.

“ _Fuck_ that potion.”

He grinned.


	5. Homenum Revelio

The next day, Malfoy left early without speaking to her, which meant all Hermione had to do was think.

She played back the events of the prior night carefully in her head, checking to make sure that she’d been ordered to do everything she had done. While she was on that potion, she had completely lost the ability to tell the difference between her own desires and the collar’s urging. It all felt so _good_.

She didn’t linger on it. Though she would never, _ever,_ let Malfoy know it, he had been right that it was better than the club. He treated her as a slave, yes, but her former patrons had not even acknowledged that she was a living being with desires of her own. She had been an object to them.

_Maybe this is as good as it gets, with Voldemort in power._ She shoved the bleak thought deliberately away _._

Hermione set to work on some chores to shut up the collar’s voice in her brain. It had long since stopped feeling worthwhile to defy it. If she did what it wanted quickly, she had time to feel like herself occasionally.

She tried not to look at anything she was cleaning in the bedroom.

Malfoy still wasn’t home, which left her with the rare blessing of free time. She wanted most of all to read something, but the selection of books in the guest house was positively dreadful. The Malfoys must have more, somewhere, but she assumed they were kept in the Manor proper.

Perhaps she could go over there and pinch one or two. She doubted anyone would notice. She hadn’t been forbidden to leave the house or to enter the Manor, so really it wasn’t against any rules.

Still, she hesitated. _What if you run into someone there?_ _What if Lucius Malfoy sees you like this?_

The thought made her very uncomfortable. Every interaction she’d ever had with Lucius involved him treating her like dirt. He would probably be overjoyed to see her as a slave, all of his cruel belittling made real.

But then again, he was surely thinking it already. She wasn’t going to stop him from relishing her situation by staying out of sight.

There was the issue of what he might try to make her do, but Hermione was fairly sure the collar would only recognize Draco’s commands. If she encountered anyone, she wouldn’t be at their mercy. That is, if her assumption was correct; she hadn’t interacted with anyone else since he’d put the collar on.

She decided it was worth the risk and made for the front door. Her hands were trembling, which made her feel extremely silly. The collar was quiet because she had not been ordered to stay, but it still felt out-of-bounds.

Steeling herself, she put a hand on the doorknob and all but yanked it open. Nothing happened. She looked out onto the grounds, shrouded today in a low gray fog, and felt a bit of triumph.

It was chilly outside, but she didn’t have a cloak to speak of. She would just have to move fast. The guest house was nestled behind the Manor, a cobblestone path connecting them. She hurried along it, looking this way and that as if checking for threats. The wind bit into her skin.

The path took her to a back door of the Manor. She stepped inside, heart racing, and shut the door quickly behind her. Then she realized she had no idea where she was.

The door connected to a short entryway, more of a cloak room than anything. She left it and found herself in a parlor. Hermione had been to Malfoy Manor before, and it was not a pleasant memory. Suddenly she felt like Bellatrix could be lurking around any corner. The scar on her neck from Bellatrix’s knife had faded some, but it was still there.

She shook her head, trying to clear away the memory. If she could stay out of the drawing room where it had all happened, she thought she would be fine. She _would_ be fine.

For now, she could only guess which way to the library. She took a door on her right and found herself in a large dining room. That most likely connected to a kitchen — wrong way. She doubled back through the parlor, and out the other door was the main hall. There was an enormous, dark staircase on one end of the room, split into two at a landing in the center. From here there were several directions to go – up the stairs, or through any number of doors. She ignored the doors directly opposite the staircase, feeling instinctively that they would lead to the drawing room she was avoiding.

Instead, she crossed the hall to a door on the other side. She felt very exposed here, like each of her footsteps on the hardwood was making far too much noise. The Manor itself was very quiet. It didn’t seem like anyone was home. Draco’s parents might have been attending to the same business he was. Maybe they were with Voldemort.

She shivered.

Through the far door, she found another sitting room. It looked rather cozy, a word she did not normally associate with these people or this place. And there, through an archway on the far wall, she spotted bookshelves. She half-jogged toward it, her nerves morphing into excitement. 

It was the sort of library that existed for its aesthetic, and its status, more than its collection. Glancing quickly over the titles she could tell they were organized by look. But she didn’t care. There were books, hundreds of them, stacked on shelves all the way up to the high ceiling. She paused a moment just to admire it, and felt a sad pang at the reminder of the Hogwarts library. She wondered if that library even existed anymore, if Voldemort had burned it down or replaced all its contents with tomes of dark magic.

She picked a corner shelf and started looking through them. She mentally cursed herself for not bringing a bag or something – now she would only be able to bring back the books she could carry. A few of them were the nasty sorts of books she feared people like the Malfoys would have, books that would be locked deep in the restricted section at school. One detailed experimental variations on the Cruciatus curse. One provided an illustrated guide for training house-elves. She shoved that one back quickly to avoid being sick.

But overall there was a variety – spell books, potion-making guides, histories, biographies, charms textbooks, even fiction. Books about Quidditch, the British wizarding community, arithmancy. It was almost too much to consider what she would take.

She leafed through the shelves, worry forgotten. She had not felt this much at home in a very long time. After a few minutes, she’d collected an armful of titles. She was debating whether she could carry just one more when there was a sound behind her.

“What on earth are you doing here?”

Hermione spun around, dropping two of her books as she went, and stood face to face with Narcissa Malfoy. She was looking at Hermione with confused rage.

Hermione was too shocked to answer.

“Well?”

“I’m sorry, I was just looking at the books, I’ll leave.” She started toward the door.

“ _Leave?_ You’re not going anywhere until you tell me why you’re here.” Narcissa had raised her wand now and was pointing it straight at Hermione.

She froze. “I only wanted to bring some books back to the guest house, I didn’t mean to intrude—”

“The guest house?” Narcissa’s eyes narrowed.

“Mother, it’s alright.”

Both of them turned toward the soft voice that had appeared quietly beside Narcissa. Draco was still looking at his mother when he said, “Hermione, go back to the house. Now.”

She dropped the rest of the books and fled through the door, not needing the collar to prod her. Narcissa stared at her the whole way out, wand still raised. When Hermione got out of her sight, she ran all the way back.


	6. Sectumsempra

“I can explain,” Draco said.

“You had better,” Mother seethed. “I can’t imagine what you were thinking. I knew you had gotten a Mudblood, but _her?_ ” She lowered her voice like she was saying something scandalous. “ _Potter’s_ Mudblood?”

“I didn’t intend this. I wasn’t looking for her. But I saw her at the club and found her…entertaining.” He shifted his weight on his heels. It sounded twice as reckless out loud.

“ _Entertaining!_ Draco,” she put her hand on his shoulder, “What were you thinking? Imagine if your father had found her first!”

“I was going to tell you. Both of you. I hadn’t found the right time.”

She was barely listening, only staring past him with a frightened look in her eye. “What if she’s planning something? What if this is what she _wanted_?”

Draco felt a twinge of indignance at that. “I have her under control, Mother. You saw her collar. She has no wand and she obeys me, she’s not a threat.”

“If she’s so under control, what was she doing _here_? Does she always wander off wherever she pleases?”

“No,” he growled. “She’s never left the house before today. But I never forbade her to come here. Don’t worry, I’ll fix that.”

She looked him in the eye, now. She was several inches shorter than him, but he felt small when she took his face in her hand. “I am worried, Draco. What if the Dark Lord were to see her?”

Draco had thought of this. “You and I well know how much the Dark Lord likes to humiliate his enemies. He will see this as my doing the same. He may even approve.”

Mother’s expression softened slightly, considering.

“But it doesn’t matter, because he won’t see her. No one will. She’s never leaving the guest house again.”

She backed away from him, wringing her hands together. “This was foolish, Draco. You should know better.”

Draco had thought the same thing of himself, but hearing her say it, scolding him as if he were still a child, filled him with rage.

“It’s none of your business, Mother. I know what I’m doing.”

“I find all evidence to the contrary.”

He exhaled sharply, and his voice turned icy. “I will deal with her. You won’t have to worry about it any longer.”

She looked a little hurt, and he had to avert his gaze. He turned on his heel and stalked out of the Manor.

Why had Hermione picked _today_ to go exploring? Draco knew why his mother was particularly wary – they had spent the better part of the day bearing witness to exactly what happened to those who displeased the Dark Lord. She was right to be afraid.

But he believed what he’d said. The Dark Lord probably wouldn’t even consider it odd that he’d chosen Hermione as a slave – he would assume Draco got an extra thrill out of degrading _her_.

Did he? Draco wasn’t entirely sure. Something must have called out to him to select her in the first place. Maybe he did want to put her in her place because of who she was, what she and Potter had done. Maybe he thought more similarly to the Dark Lord than he’d assumed.

He held on to his anger as he approached the front door of the guest house. He was going to need it to make an impression.

When he opened the door, Hermione was kneeling in the entryway, eyes on the floor. She looked frightened.

“I’m sorry, sir, I just thought I would get some books, I didn’t mean—”

“To scare my mother half to death?”

“I—” She looked up at Draco’s eyes, then quickly averted them again. “I assumed she knew.”

“Oh yes. The very first thing I did after I got you was rush to tell my parents that I’d brought Harry Potter’s sidekick into my house.”

Rage passed over her face, but she swallowed it down.

“And that’s the problem. You _thought_ you’d get some books, you _assumed_ she knew. Your place is not to think or assume anything, Granger. If I haven’t told you to leave the house, you don’t leave the house.”

She looked like she might be on the verge of saying something, but Draco stormed past her without waiting. He pulled out his wand and pointed it at her collar, then jerked his wrist. Hermione yelped as her collar was pulled backwards, tethered to his wand as if by a leash. He led her through the hall to the back bedroom where she had been sleeping. She followed after him, tugging at the collar and stumbling half-bent over behind.

He slammed the door behind them and yanked Hermione into the center of the room. “Strip,” he ordered.

She kept her hands at her throat for one second, trying to regain her breath, but quickly started unbuttoning her dress. Draco didn’t see any embarrassment on her face at being naked, only fear.

He spun his wand hand once she was done, twisting her to face the opposite wall, and then pushed her toward it. She stumbled under the force until she was pressed flat, face-first against the wall.

The binding spell took hold of her wrists, spreading them wide and pressing her further against the wall. Her ankles were secured as well until she was spread-eagle.

“What are you going to do?” Her voice was uncharacteristically quiet.

“Teach you an overdue lesson.”

Draco took one deep breath. He brought down his wand in a great slashing motion, and Hermione shouted. The spell whipped across her back with intense force, leaving a bright pink line behind. He only paused a moment before he repeated on the other side. This time, she was braced for the blow, and she only moaned through a closed mouth.

“Count them.” He did not give her any warning before he struck her again.

Her voice was strained. “Three, sir.”

He delivered the next blow while she was speaking, and this time she did scream. She trembled for a moment, and he waited. Then: “Four, sir.”

He let his residual anger fuel his great slashing motions in the air, taking it out on her delicate back. By six her skin had split in places, speckled with tiny droplets of blood. By ten, her counts were coming in between muffled sobs.

Finally, when they arrived at fifteen, he stopped. His heart was pounding, but he tried to force himself to relax. It wouldn’t do any good to really hurt her. The entirety of her back was bright pink, lined a few places with red marks and streaks of blood. Something in him quite liked the sight — his stomach had grown hot.

He released the bonds, and she crumpled to the floor, still crying quietly.

“Don’t leave this house, and do not take advantage of the liberties I grant you. Have I made myself clear?”

Hermione was utterly still, but spoke in a small voice. “Yes, Master.”

Draco turned to leave, satisfied, when he heard her say something else. Her voice was still small, but filled with bile, now. “I loathe you.”

He spun back toward her, rage rekindled. “Good. If you hate me, you might have the good sense to fear me.”

He left the room, slamming the door behind him. His chest was tight and his stomach was sour, but there was no point in thinking on that. Draco locked the door behind him and left Hermione there.


	7. Quietus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mentioned before that I only intended on one chapter for this. I wanted to wrap it up before it got stale or I got too bored of it, so hopefully it doesn't feel too abrupt. Thanks for the encouragement!

Hermione’s back ached. Even after a few days it was tender, and she winced when she moved.

It was not terribly injured, not anymore. A few hours after he’d done it, Malfoy had come back into her room with dittany for the places the skin had broken. She’d refused his help, staunchly sitting with her back to the wall until he’d ordered her onto the bed. He’d been surprisingly tender, applying tiny droplets to her wounds slowly and carefully. Her skin burned, but the cuts healed.

But she was still sore. He didn’t heal her fully — it was possible he didn’t know how. It was equally possible he had left her injured on purpose, as a reminder. He didn’t say, and she didn’t ask.

But now, bending down to collect something off the floor, she felt it.

 _All that for going to get some books,_ she thought, indignantly. She didn’t quite believe herself, though. If she hadn’t felt like it was rule-breaking to leave the house she wouldn’t have felt so nervous doing it.

The more surprising thing was that Malfoy had brought the books anyway, the next day. It was all the volumes she had picked out. He’d dumped them into her bedroom without a word.

Hermione had just finished her chores and was considering going to read one of them when she heard the door open. He was back.

Immediately she felt a tug to greet him, but she ignored it. Her recent reminder of how foul he was had nudged her back toward disobedience, though the pain was fresh enough to dissuade any outright insolence.

Which meant that when he called for her, she went. He was standing in the entryway, cheeks still pink from the chill outside, looking positively beleaguered.

He peeled off his cloak and tossed it at her. It landed heavy in her arms, still warm from his body heat.

“I need a bath.”

She thought about resisting — it might even be easier since he hadn’t precisely commanded anything — but he looked so cross, she had no doubt he would beat her right there if she refused.

So she took his cloak to the closet and went upstairs to draw a bath. When he eventually made his way up to the bedroom, he stripped in full view of her with no embarrassment whatsoever. Hermione looked away. Despite everything they’d done, he’d never actually been naked in front of her. She didn’t get a good look, but felt a single pounding heartbeat before she averted her eyes. Probably just nervous about what he was going to do next.

He slipped into the water without looking at her, and she turned to leave.

“No, stay here.”

She turned back around and found him with his eyes closed, settling into the warmth. “Do you need something?”

“Nothing except some pleasant fucking company. Which, compared to what I’ve had today, you can provide. Even when you are still worked up and _angry_ with me.” He said the word angry as if he found it very funny.

“Pardon me, sir, how am I _supposed_ to feel about having been whipped?”

“I don’t really care how you feel about it, but you’re supposed to act nicely. Possibly even repentant, though I don’t dare to dream.”

She scowled at him, but his eyes were still closed so it didn’t make much difference. The tub was wide with a thick tiled ledge, so she sat on it opposite him.

“If I acted repentant you would know I didn’t mean it. I doubt you’d find it satisfying.”

“I might if you were any good at it.” He opened his eyes now. His mood seemed to have improved — he was smirking again. “But you couldn’t. You always have to behave honestly, _exactly_ how you’re feeling.”

“I shouldn’t be surprised that you think there’s something wrong with being honest.”

His face got slightly more serious. “You don’t get very far being honest, Granger. When you’re a servant, it can be downright dangerous.”

She had the feeling he wasn’t really talking about her. She wanted to know as little as possible about Voldemort and the rest of them, though, so she steered away from the subject.

“Maybe. I happen to think a person’s intentions, their _honest_ emotions, matter.”

He laughed, incredulous. “How adorably naïve of you.”

She gritted her teeth, trying not to let him make her angry. “What, so it makes no difference at all what a person thinks and feels?”

“Do you know how I spent my morning, Granger?” His eyes were cold staring into hers. “One of the other Death Eaters tracked down a traitor we’d been hunting.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice slightly. “I tortured him. The Dark Lord likes to watch, you see, and we all took a turn. Do you think that it mattered to him whether my heart was in it?”

Hermione couldn’t answer, too many emotions bubbling up at once.

“I do as I’m told. As long as I do, it doesn’t matter at all how I feel about it.”

He held her gaze long enough to make her chest feel tight, then sank back in the bath.

“And how do you feel about it?” Her voice was quiet.

“I think you’ve missed the point of the story, love.”

Again she felt like testing the collar, trying for just one swipe at his smarmy face. “Well you must feel some way about it. You’re not a machine.”

“I don’t know anymore,” he said coolly. “I truly don’t. I have done and thought many things, but I no longer know which ones came from me.”

“That’s absurd.”

“Is it? I think you know more what I mean than you’re letting on.” He cocked his head thoughtfully. “I’ll bet you can’t always tell the difference anymore, between your own desires and the enchantment.”

Her heart beat faster. “That’s not true.”

“Of course not. Hold your breath.”

“What?” She felt sort of lightheaded.

“I’m commanding you, right now, to hold you breath.”

She was panting slightly, confused. What an asinine thing to command, trying to prove her point. He was like a child. But she _did_ feel that her breathing was erratic and it would be nice to get it back under control. Maybe holding her breath would act as a sort of reset. It sounded kind of nice, actually. _It’s just what Malfoy wants_. But…why not?

She took in as big a breath as she could and held it.

He watched her. Seconds ticked by but the expression on his face, absolute calm, never changed. Her lungs were starting to burn, now. She felt like a swelling balloon. She really should just let it out, orders be damned—

“Now breathe.”

She let it out in a great puff, scrambling to get more air into her.

“Did you breathe because I told you to, or because you wanted to? According to you, the difference should be plain.”

“Of course I wanted to, I need to _breathe._ That doesn’t prove anything.”

“But I was watching you before you held your breath. You wanted to do that as well, and there’s no biological explanation for that.”

“This is ludicrous. I know what’s going on in my own mind.”

He shrugged. “Mind, body, what’s the difference? I own your body, and that’s as good as owning your mind.”

She burned with anger. He did _not_ get to claim ownership of that. “You’re wrong.”

“If you say so.”

He rose suddenly, sloshing the water as he stood. She looked away hastily.

“Protecting my modesty? How sweet. But you can look, if you want.”

The teasing in his voice was insufferable. She kept her eyes locked on a single tile in the corner of the room, focusing on it as hard as she could.

She saw him step out of the bath from the corner of her eye. “Actually, I’ve changed my mind. Forget what you want and look at me.”

Hermione bit her lip. She wouldn’t. She was just going to keep staring at this tile. Even if she was just a tiny bit curious, and felt a little bit warm at the thought of it.

The urge to look grew stronger. It was a strain to keep her eyes away. Maybe…maybe if she looked at him, he’d drop it. He’d leave her alone and she could read one of those books.

She deliberated for what felt like ages, and finally turned her head.

She regretted it instantly. He was standing tall, smug as ever, completely nude and dripping wet. It was usually difficult to tell under his clothes, but Malfoy had a strong, lithe body. She recalled dimly that he had been an athlete as she watched a droplet trickle between his pecs. His pale skin was almost glowing with the water reflecting off it. She kept her gaze carefully waist-upwards, though it got harder as it went on. Her heart was beating fast.

She wanted to look away, but she didn’t. Couldn’t. She felt hot all over, still staring at him.

“There you have it, Granger. Wanting and obeying are not so different.”

With effort, and a grimace, she tore her gaze away. He chuckled when she did.

“Of course I have a reaction. You’ve made me associate you with…heightened physiological sensations. Especially those damned potions. It’s only logical.”

“But that only proves my point. Your body reacts without your input. You’re aroused whether or not your _mind_ wants it.”

She fixed her eyes on the floor. “Will that be all, sir?”

“No, I don’t think it will. I think it would be almost cruel to leave you like this.”

Hermione clenched her fists, willing her breathing to slow down. “I feel completely ordinary.”

“Do you? Not me. I’m feeling rather energized. Meet me in bed.”

She found she was on her feet before any conscious decision to get there. She didn’t let herself dwell on it, only made her way to the bedroom feeling flushed. When she went to unbutton her clothes, she heard his voice behind her.

“I didn’t tell you to strip, you know.”

She half-turned, still not wanting to look at him. “What? Oh, I—”

“No, don’t stop. I just find it interesting that you did that of your own accord.”

“Well it’s – it’s obvious that that’s –”

He was laughing at her again. God, how she _hated_ him. The smug look on his face, his derisive chuckle. She had almost felt pity for him, earlier, and she was thankful she didn’t let that get too far. He didn’t deserve an ounce of her pity. Her skin was boiling hot now, and her fingers fumbled on her buttons.

Then she was naked, sitting on the bed, still refusing to look at him. He had dried himself off some, though he still smelled of soap. He came to stand at the foot of the bed, looming over her.

“Now then, this time I’ll leave it up to you. No conditions. I have quite the stock of potions. Do you want one?”

“No,” she answered immediately.

“How sweet. She wants me without a whiff of anything.” He was at the cupboard now, looking over the potions. She wasn’t sure whether they were for him, or he was going to force something on her despite his promises.

“That’s not it, Malfoy.”

“Manners, Granger.”

“Or what?” She made her tone as sharp as possible. He didn’t look at her – in fact, he didn’t even turn around – but he produced his wand from somewhere and waved it. Then something was in her mouth. She mumbled against it, but it stretched her jaw open and prevented her speaking entirely. She shouted at him, only creating noise.

“Ah, here we are.” He had found what he was looking for on the shelf, and looked her in the eye as he swallowed a purple liquid she didn’t recognize. It was hard to tell what the effect was, and she certainly couldn’t ask. She only noticed that he seemed more confident after he drank it, which she would have thought impossible.

“Do you know what I’ve realized? I’ve had you this long and I’ve still never properly fucked you.” He made his way back to the bed, looking at her greedily even as she tried to cover herself. Her heart was beating even faster now, and she almost wished she had taken a potion so she could blame that. His eyes on her were of a predator, eyeing prey.

He climbed onto the bed with her, and she tried feebly to back away. There was nowhere for her to go.

“Come here.”

Her backing away was aborted suddenly, and she now found herself inching toward him. It wasn’t any great hardship, as loathe as she was to admit it.

“It seems your lips are somewhat occupied.” Instead, he took his mouth to her neck. Her breath was already strained through the gag, but it became fractured further as he sucked and bit her tender skin. His movements were both sweet and fierce; soft lips and sharp teeth.

She wasn’t trying to control her breathing anymore. He could tell that she was enjoying it and there was no hiding it. Maybe he had a point, maybe he _did_ have more of an effect on her than she liked to admit….

She shook her head.

Malfoy had moved now, and was looking at her face inquisitively.

“Then again, why should I do everything? Who here is the master?”

She searched his eyes. She only found the characteristically wicked glee that he always displayed in bed.

He nudged her to the side to free up the center of the bed, and he lay across it.

“Ride me.”

Her heart did a flip. She stayed still for a moment, even though her entire body was begging her to move.

“Do I have to spell it out, Granger? Get moving.”

She felt twitching in her legs and her groin. A thin line of drool was beginning to leak from the corner of her gagged mouth.

Then she gave in and straddled him.

He lay completely nonchalant, with his arms behind his head. The look in his eyes was patiently expectant, that same look he always gave when he knew that she would follow his command eventually. It was infuriating, but she still she felt a pull within her.

He was long since hard, and she finally was forced to look at him fully. The sight made her stomach pool with warmth, and that was the end of her resistance.

She took his length in one hand, stroking a few times, and guided him into her. She went slowly, sliding down the length inch by inch. It burned. He made the softest moan as she did, which made her skin tingle.

With a final push she was fully seated, and her body was hot all over. They _hadn’t_ done this before, and it felt good. She didn’t know why exactly, what enchantments were working on her or him, but in that moment she didn’t really care. All she cared to do was rock her hips, lifting and falling and fucking herself on him.

“That’s it, love,” he said, still oddly calm. She was focusing on herself, but when she took the time to look at him she could see the composure was only a veneer. It gave her a surge of satisfaction to know she was affecting him.

She fell into a rhythm, pulling herself nearly off and then sliding back down, moving her hips in time. His breaths were starting to change despite his cool demeanor, along with hers. It felt extraordinarily right to be here, as if this was where she belonged.

“Let’s hear how much you’re enjoying this.”

She moaned in response, instantly, instinctually. She managed a series of needy, wordless sounds around the gag. He seemed to like that; he was smirking seriously now, almost to the point of being a real smile. 

Sweat was beginning to bead on her skin. Draco had removed his hands from behind his head now, moving one to her hip and one to fondle her breast. That made something happen deep in her stomach, and she closed her eyes into the sensation.

His breaths were very ragged now, and his hips had begun to move in response to hers. Complimenting her movements. They were both of them headed toward some kind of release.

Somewhere in the back of her brain, it surprised Hermione how naturally they moved together. They should not be this in sync, two such opposite people.

He grew tense under her, and she knew he was getting close. She was, too, and moved her body further and faster to get there as well.

Just when they were reaching a peak, Malfoy pulled out his wand again and flicked away the gag.

“Let’s hear it,” he commanded.

She let out a full-peal moan, her freed breath ringing in the bedroom as she came on top of him, and he came directly after.

She collapsed into him for a second. Then the embarrassment seemed to return to her, and she rolled off.

“Did you enjoy that, Granger?”

She was breathing hard. The collar wanted her to answer, but she didn’t want to say it out loud.

“So stubborn. Tell me the truth, love. Tell me that you absolutely loved fucking me.”

She let her breaths even out for another second, but it was easier when he put the words in her mouth. “I absolutely loved fucking you, sir.”

She had tried to make her voice sarcastic, even deadpan, but Malfoy smirked like he’d won some kind of victory. Perhaps he had — she wasn’t sure whether she meant it.

Hermione lifted her gaze to the ceiling. Her body was still pulsing in places, warm and satisfied. For the moment, she couldn’t seem to care one bit if she were telling the truth.


End file.
